


A Light in May

by Antigone_q



Series: A Light in May [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elven Parties, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Little Aragorn/Estel, Mystery, Third Age, obscure facts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4005343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antigone_q/pseuds/Antigone_q
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A storm brings travelers and a mystery to peaceful Imladris. It's a "whodunnit" told largely from the point of view of young Estel, but also includes lots of Elrond, Gilraen, Legolas...and a little of Lovely Glorfindel for good measure. </p><p>No Elves were actually harmed in the making of this fic. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Storm Comes

**Author's Note:**

> A short explanation for people have been exposed to LotR through the movies and haven't read the books: this fic takes place about three years before the events in "The Hobbit." At that time, according to the appendix in the main trilogy, Aragorn lived with his own mother and with Elrond in Rivendell (which the Elves called Imladris) as Elrond's foster son, and while he lived there Aragorn was called "Estel," which meant "hope" in Elvish. The reader should assume that all conversation in this story is in Elvish unless otherwise noted. 
> 
> This work has a special place in my heart. It was originally published back in 2004, before some of these tropes were tropes yet, and I feel happy (and bemused) to have been a contributing source of such fanon as "young Aragorn didn't speak his own language." My thanks to Daw the Minstrel for beta reading the bulk of this story.

The black sky turned for an instant to icy blue, then became an inky black again. Wrapped tightly in his downy blanket, Estel did not even have time to count to himself "one mile gone" before he heard the great bang of thunder that made his bed quiver with the noise. 

Estel also trembled with the noise, although he tried to pretend he did not. 

"Seven years old is most certainly too old to be afraid of storms," he told himself firmly. 

Yet this storm was by far the most forceful that the spring had brought to Imladris, and the heart of it was coming closer. Papa Elrond had taught Estel how to begin counting when he saw the lightning flash: "One mile gone, two miles gone, three miles gone." Then when Estel heard the thunder that went with the flash, he would know how far away the lightning was. The valley had so few thunderstorms that Estel could almost always count to "four miles gone" - in which case he could say to himself, "Four miles gone! That is probably not even in Imladris! I'm not afraid of a storm four whole miles away!" 

It was very reassuring, as long as the lightning stayed far away. 

Rain pounded hard at the window and through it Estel saw the sky turn to a white nearly as bright as day. Before he could even open his mouth to count the miles, he heard a tremendous roar of thunder so loud and long that the entire house seemed to quake on its foundation, and this time the noise did not seem to come from overhead, but very near. There was a mighty "CRACK" of something splitting. 

Estel dove under his blankets. From the darkness there he heard shouting, doors opening and shutting, and feet scurrying outside his room in the long hallway. Then, a few moments later, there was a soft knock at Estel's door and the creaking of hinges. 

Estel hurriedly struggled out from under his small shelter and insisted loudly, "I was not scared!" before he even looked to see who it was. 

Elrond smiled at his foster son. He did not say, "Of course you were not," because his Elvish heritage would not easily let him lie, but he did not argue with the small boy un-hiding himself from under the bedclothes. 

Instead Elrond said, "Whether or not, it must be very hard to sleep. Elladan and Elrohir and some others have gone to make certain that a tree that was struck will not catch fire. Will you come and have something warm to drink with me while we wait for them to come back?" 

Estel nodded, pushing his feet into slippers and padding across the floor to where Elrond, the great Lord of Imladris, bent down on one knee to wipe a stray tear from the little boy's face. 

Estel was embarrassed; he hadn't realized he'd been crying. But the look on Elrond's face was so loving that Estel could not keep from thinking that perhaps it didn't matter if Elrond knew he'd been frightened, anyway. 

Taking Estel's hand in his own, Elrond rose and led the child down the long hallway. They passed Estel's mother's doorway. No one could sleep through such a storm, but Elrond had for a long time despaired of Gilraen comforting her child during thunderstorms or at any other time: she seemed to love her child well enough, but she was locked within her private grief as one might be locked in a dungeon cell where no light goes. As far as Elrond could tell Gilraen thought of Estel only rarely, and then always with great surprise, as if she did not realize a small someone might need her was dwelling in the same house. Had Elrond gone to Gilraen and told her to seek out Estel, no doubt she would have done so, but in truth the Lord of Imladris greatly enjoyed Estel and did not in the least mind caring for him. 

The two walked down the stairs to the Hall of Fire, which Elrond knew was the most comfortable room in the house by Estel's standards, and which had the additional advantage of not having windows to see the lightning through. 

Estel plunked down on a large cushion on the floor, and Elrond brought out a kettle to make some tea over the fire that was always kept burning. 

"Where was the tree that was struck?" Estel asked suddenly. 

"To the west a little way," answered Elrond, "somewhere near the caves. Though I did not clearly see the tree before it was hit, it must have been one of the tallest ones. It is felled now in two pieces." 

"I hope it was not my climbing tree," said Estel seriously. "I was just beginning to be brave on it." 

Elrond stifled a laugh. For a child of Men, no doubt Estel was a very good tree-climber, but by Elfling standards what Estel had been doing could hardly be counted as "climbing" at all. 

"I think someone had been camping near my tree," Estel went on. "I hope they moved before the lightning got there. But I guess they would have gone into the cave anyway, to get out of the rain." 

Elrond turned around to look at Estel in surprise and concern. "Someone camping? Near the caves? Who? When was this?" 

"I do not know. Yesterday, and some days ago, I guess." He puffed out his chest a little. "They tried to make it secret, but I saw part of a footprint, and a two broken twigs. Elladan will be proud of me when I tell him how I sighted the track, I bet." 

Elrond pressed his lips together. "Estel, you must tell me when you notice such things. I need to know if there are strangers in the valley - and you must be careful. Not all from without the valley are kind. This person might be dangerous." 

"But, Papa, it was an Elf, I am sure of it. Men have big stomp-y footprints." Estel stretched his feet out before him and clomped on the floor a bit to demonstrate. "This was not like that at all. This was a hoppy footprint that almost didn't touch the grass." 

Elrond wondered how it was that Estel had picked up the prejudice that it was Men who were dangerous and Elves who were safe. "I want to know about anyone who comes in the valley, Estel, whether Elf or Man." 

"Yes, Papa,” Estel said meekly. Elrond had no doubt Estel would obey - he was quite well behaved, for a child of Men. 

Elrond had just served Estel some honeyed tea and had begun a long story meant to distract Estel from the thunder, when Elrond’s seneschal, Erestor, fairly flew into the room. 

"My Lord," Erestor said, stained with rain and mud and clearly out of breath, "you must come at once to the halls of healing. An Elf has been injured in the storm. Who it is, we do not know, but he is badly hurt and unconscious." 

Elrond and Erestor left swiftly for the Hall of Healing. Estel followed behind them, storm forgotten, leaping into each of Erestor's muddy footprints as they went. Privately, Estel pretended he was following tracks in the wilds. Erestor's prints were far too easy to see, but that was fine - Estel simply pretended they were half-covered by tall green grass and fallen leaves, as well. 

When they reached the carved archway that led to the room where Elrond healed the ill and injured, Estel stayed back while the two Elves entered. Unless he had permission Estel was not allowed to enter the Hall of Healing while a patient was there, so he waited in the doorway to see if he would be invited to come in and help. Papa Elrond’s friend, Glorfindel, and some other elves were gathered around a still figure on the bed, but Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s sons and Estel’s foster brothers, were nowhere to be seen. Estel guessed they were still braving the storm to make sure the fires were out near the caves. 

Elrond went to the still figure on the bed and studied him with some concern. The fair-haired Elf was shivering through his drenched, ragged green-gray clothes and his ankle was swelling badly, but there was no obvious reason why he should be unconscious. 

"Ai, this is not good," Elrond said gravely, placing one hand on the clammy skin of the Elf's forehead. "We must get him warm and dry, firstly, and then I can examine him further to see why he does not wake. Erestor, fetch me more blankets, please. Oh, and Glorfindel, would you be so kind as to take young Estel back to his room and perhaps sit with him awhile, or fetch his mother to do so?" 

Estel was disappointed that he was not going to be allowed to help this time. He liked making people better and learning about herbs and the art of healing. He already knew two plants to use: athelas and willow bark. 

Glorfindel, who was just as wet and muddy as Erestor and most of the other people in the room, gave a short nod to Elrond and went to Estel. 

Estel liked Glorfindel, and if he had to go back to his room he didn't mind the great Elf escorting him. Silently Glorfindel held out his hand and Estel took it, the small hand swallowed up in the much larger one. 

Estel usually had to run or leap to keep up with grown Elves in a hurry, since Elves were taller than Men, and much taller than little boys, but Glorfindel always walked slowly when Estel was with him and did not forget Estel's shorter legs. 

"It is late for you to be awake, Little One," Glorfindel remarked, walking with his usual slow pace. 

Estel craned his neck to look up at Glorfindel's face. "The storm woke me," he answered with a scowl, as if the storm had done so purposefully. 

Glorfindel nodded. "Aye, it was loud, was it not? But I think the worst is over now. The clouds will soon stop their temper tantrum and we shall have a nice, steady rain to water your garden." 

Estel laughed, thinking of cloud children throwing themselves down on the starry floor of the night sky and kicking their fluffy legs in anger. 

"Perhaps the sun told them to go to bed, and they were angry because they wanted to stay awake later," Estel mused. 

Glorfindel smiled at the Estel's whimsy; he could well understand how Estel might have thought of such a set of circumstances. "If that is so, then they certainly received what they wished for tonight," Glorfindel replied. 

"The sun should not give in to them so, else they will only do it again." Estel furrowed his brow. "How would the sun punish a cloud if it was naughty, do you think? And truly, what makes the thunder sound, Glorfindel?" 

"Both excellent questions; no doubt when you ask the Lord Elrond tomorrow, he will know the answers," Glorfindel smoothly answered, giving the answer he stored away for just such emergencies. "And here we are back at your room. Hop to bed, now." 

Meanwhile in the Hall of Healing, Elrond was perplexedly searching for the cause of injury in the unknown Elf. In dry clothes, and somewhat the warmer, the stranger had stopped shivering and was breathing easier. Since the Elf had been found in a cave with no branches anywhere near, Elrond knew that the tree had not struck the Elf when it fell. 

From the lack of burns he could guess that the Elf had been struck neither by the lightning itself nor the ground charge. Perhaps somehow the Elf had been thrown backward and hit his head? Yes, there was the telltale bump near the base of the skull. Well, that was straightforward enough. 

Elrond turned to one of his assistants. "Warm some water if you would please, Ilothuir. I will need it soon." He turned to the other Elves. "The rest of you can go, and I thank you for all your help tonight." 

Once the other Elves were gone from the room, Elrond was better able to reach into his healing gift and begin to repair the damage done. It was difficult, draining work, but finally Elrond knew the stranger was no longer trapped in unconsciousness but sleeping in a healthy sleep. 

Elrond rubbed his nose in puzzlement. He had no idea who would be wandering the valley without announcing themselves. Why had the strange Elf hidden in a cave, rather than coming to the House of Elrond? It was common knowledge that all who sought sanctuary in Imladris found it. 

And the stranger reminded Elrond of someone. Who? Elrond's instincts told him that this Elf was young, so perhaps too young for Elrond to have met during the days when he traveled often. By his dress, Elrond conjectured that he was not from Lothlórien. A wood Elf from Mirkwood, then? Elrond studied the pale features and fair hair. Most Elves from Mirkwood had dark hair, he knew. In fact, the only Elf from Mirkwood whom Elrond knew who had fair hair was- 

Elrond blinked. Of course! The sleeping young Elf reminded Elrond of Thranduil. 

"Oh - thank you, Ilothuir,” Elrond said as he took the bowl of warm water and cloths from one of his assistants and absently prepared herbs to help with the swelling of the ankle. 

The question was, why would kin of Thranduil have come to Imladris, and why would he hide himself away in a cave?


	2. An Injured Elf Awakes

Estel lounged on an upper balcony, eating some sweet dried apple slices. Not far away, water fell like twisted lace from an escarpment down into the frothing pool that flowed away beneath the main bridge. As Glorfindel had predicted, the storm of the night before had softened into a light rain. The sun peeked here and there between the clouds, casting little rays of brightness into the courtyard and causing wet leaves to sparkle and the rain to shine as it descended. 

The balcony was one of Estel’s favorite watching places. He could see birds and animals that only lived in the tops of trees, as well as most of the comings and goings from the house. So he was perfectly situated to see the two horses and riders making their way down the Northwestern path. 

Estel studied the horses with great interest. One horse was a bay with a light, pretty step and a long neck. It tossed its head occasionally, as if in pride at its appearance. Its rider was dressed in muted green and silver gray. The other rider, dressed mostly in deep greens and brown, sat atop a dappled white horse. The second horse was less beautiful in form, but more surefooted, and although he could see it was the less valuable horse Estel liked the color better. 

To the riders themselves Estel paid little attention except to think that if he hurried he would be the first to tell his father about the visitors (for though Erestor would go out to greet the strangers and bring them inside, the councilor was notoriously long-winded when issuing a formal welcome.)

 

In the Hall of Healing, an Elf slowly opened his eyes and moved his head a little to look round. He saw he was lying in a fastidiously clean room in which nearly every wooden surface had been decorated with carvings. To his right, muted light filtered through curtained windows. Near to his left was an archway leading to a passage, but into the passage itself he could not see. There was no one else in the room. 

He frowned, trying to piece together thoughts that fell like wind-scattered leaves through his mind. He remembered… Greenwood… Secrets… Leaving… Storms… He remembered being cold, which was odd because he was not usually affected by cold. 

He eased himself up in bed, becoming mindful that his ankle was a little sore and that every time he moved his head too quickly he became nauseated. The last thing he remembered was waiting out the storm in a cave in Imladris, so he was surely now in the house of Lord Elrond. Indeed, the place was as airy and pleasant as he had always heard. 

Being found in Imladris now might be a good or bad thing. Still, a comfortable, warm bed made an agreeable change from camping on wet ground or hard rock. 

The Elf caught a glimpse of a mop of dark hair on the head of a small person before it disappeared behind the wall of the archway again. Perhaps he was not so alone as he had thought. The Elf smiled, glad he was still able to do so after all he had been though. 

“Well met, Little One!” he called to the curious child. “Are you standing there because you wish to come say ‘hello’? You may, if you would like.” 

This time, the dark hair was joined by a pair of dark eyes peeking into the room. “I am not supposed to bother you,” whispered the child loudly, still from around the corner. 

“You do not bother me, Elfling,” the Elf assured. 

The child stepped into the open and the Elf was surprised to see that although the child was dressed like an Elfling and spoke like one, it was clearly a child of Men. 

“I am not allowed to enter the Hall of Healing without permission – I was only looking for my Papa,” the boy said, still without coming into the room. “But when I find him, I will ask him to let me visit you. He will surely allow it, since even I can see you are feeling better.” The child frowned. “I do not think you are supposed to be unattended. When I find Papa I will tell him about that, also. I think he meant for one of the healers he is training to be here with you when you awoke.” 

The Elf was puzzled. “Am I not in Imladris, in the House of Elrond? I thought it was Lord Elrond himself who trained the new healers.” 

The child nodded happily, as if the Elf had done something quite clever. “Yes, he is my Papa – well, my second Papa – Anyway, when I find him, he will-“ 

“He will probably ask why you are awakening the patients after you have been told not to disturb them,” said someone dryly. The speaker was out of the line of the injured Elf’s vision. 

In the hallway, Estel turned to face Lord Elrond, who had his arms crossed and was looking down with mild censure. 

“But, Papa,” Estel explained, “He was awake already. And he said I wasn’t bothering him.” 

”But why were you here at all, Estel?” Elrond asked, lightly brushing the hair out of the child’s eyes. “You know this person has been injured and needs his rest. Did not Calen-Glad tell you so?” 

“I only came to find you, to tell you there are riders coming to our house. I thought you would maybe have come to the Hall to see to your patient, and here you are! And Calen-Glad is not in here, Papa; the stranger was alone.” 

“What?” exclaimed Elrond, striding into the Hall of Healing. “I greet you, Friend, in the name of the House of Elrond,” Elrond said to the new Elf distractedly, at the same time gazing around the room. “Where in Arda has that wretched Calen-Glad gone?” he muttered to himself. “Honestly, if Galadriel herself had not sent him to me – the least he could have done was tell Ilothuir to come in.” 

“Perhaps they are with one another,” suggested Estel. “I think they must be great friends, for I often see them together on the bridge at night.” 

At this, the injured Elf hid a smile behind his hand, and Elrond looked at Estel keenly. 

“I see,” said Elrond, contemplating this news. 

“Truly,” the stranger hastened to say, “I seem to be very well, all things considered. I thank you for your kindness, Lord Elrond.” 

”You are quite welcome. But, Friend, you have the advantage of me, for you know my name but I still do not know yours.” 

Elrond and the stranger gazed at one another, and silence filled the room. Things might have become quickly uncomfortable if Estel had not remembered his manners. 

“Oh! I have forgotten to tell you my name also.” Estel made a bow. “I am Estel, of the House of Elrond. I and my household are at your service.” 

“Hope?” the stranger echoed, referring to the meaning of Estel’s name. “A very apt name, for these times. I thank you, young Estel. And,” the Elf added with some mirth, “I am at your service also – though I am not in any condition to do much. My ankle does not feel as if I could walk on it, and my head is a little sore, to say the least.” 

Elrond’s face softened. “Yes, you twisted your ankle when you fell, and you also hit your head and had a nasty bump. Perhaps questions can wait a while.” 

There was a cushioned chair near the stranger’s bed, and Elrond sank into it. He was, of course, not about to give up finding out who the patient was, but he would put it off until a later time. “I will make you some tea,” he said to the stranger. “It should help ease any pain. And after you have rested,” he continued in a tone that allowed for no arguments, “we will speak again about this matter of names.” 

The eyes of the two locked again. After some moments, the stranger gave a short nod. 

Elrond rose, and from the archway Estel pleaded, “So, may I come in, Papa? Please? For your patient seems much better, and I could keep him company and fetch herbs for the tea. Will you be using willow bark? Or didn’t you use nettle once for a swollen ankle?” 

“There seems little sense in keeping you away now,” said Elrond, one corner of his mouth tilting up in amusement. “Though when I gave you the rule about waiting for permission before coming entering, I had in mind that you would avoid placing any strain on the health of those resting. I did not mean you should call out from the doorway to whomever was abed.” 

Estel entered and went to stand beside Elrond. He looked up at his foster father and then quickly down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I have not done so before, and I will not again.” He bit his lip. 

Elrond ruffled the boy’s hair. “Of that, I have no doubt. Now, come and help me here, and then we will find Nestwen or Ilothuir – or someone else responsible – and have one of them stay with our new friend while we go down and see these visitors you spoke of.” 

“They had the biggest horses, Papa!” Estel resumed his exuberance and reached as high as he could towards the height of an imaginary horse. “One was brown and black, and he was very tall and proud looking. The other was not so tall, nor so pretty, but I think it was the kind of horse you might trust to bear you over a rough path. It was white with black spots on its rump. Its step was very-“ Estel could not think of the word he wanted, so instead demonstrated the careful, sure pace of the horse. 

The stranger watched the performance with some amusement. “And the other horse? How did it walk?” 

“Oh, it was very fine, indeed!” Estel exclaimed, prancing around the room and lifting his knees high. “It went just like this.” 

Elrond gave his patient a glance as if to say, “See what you have started now?” But to Estel he only said, “Yes, that does look like a fine horse. Are you able to reach the willow bark by yourself?” 

Estel immediately stopped prancing, remembering that he was supposed to be “helping,” and went to the big cupboard. He fetched the willow bark for Elrond and watched with interest as it was ground in a pestle. Estel loved to watch his father working, rapid and certain, with the medicines and herbs they often gathered together. 

“I’m going to be a healer when I grow up, too,” Estel said, standing on tiptoe to see Elrond’s movements better. 

Elrond stopped for a moment, and his face held an unreadable expression. Then he began to work again. “It cannot do any harm for you to learn the art,” he replied neutrally. 

When water was brought to a boil, Elrond finished making the infusion and gave it to to the injured Elf. Estel sat near the bed ready to take the empty cup. 

“My Lord?” Estel saw that Erestor had come at last. “There are two messengers from King Thranduil who say they wish to speak with you immediately on a matter of some importance.” 

Estel watched in puzzlement as the patient frowned and sank farther down under the covers. 

“It’s not supposed to taste nasty,” Estel said, peering into the cup. “I saw Papa add the honey.” 

“Yes,” Lord Elrond was saying to Erestor, “Estel had told me we had visitors.” At this, Estel shot Erestor a superior smile. “Did they say what they had come for?” 

Erestor shook his head. “They did not, but they did say they could not wait. They are in the Receiving Chamber now.” 

“Hm…” said Elrond. He turned to his foster son. “Would you like to come with me, Estel?” 

Estel was surprised. “But you always say I am not old enough go with you to the Receiving Chamber while you are working.” 

Elrond smiled. “I think today I have changed my mind. I would like you to see some of the things I do besides healing, and perhaps you may learn to enjoy those, as well.” 

“But what if the matter is private?” objected the stranger from his bed, looking alarmed. 

Elrond raised his eyebrows. “Then Estel could easily go elsewhere, could he not? Why do you ask, my friend? Is there some reason you might think this business of King Thranduil’s should be private?” 

The Elf scowled. “I could not say what private messages Thranduil might send you.” 

“We will soon find out then, will we not? Come, Estel. Erestor, would you be so kind as to find a healer to come in and tend to this young Elf? Nestwen or one of the others – but not Calen-Glad, please. I wish to speak to him before he is allowed here again.”

 

Glorfindel sat on Elrond’s right hand and Estel sat on Elrond’s left in the Receiving Chamber. The chairs were tall, of carved wood and uncomfortable, especially because Estel’s feet did not touch the floor yet. Nevertheless, he tried to keep still and solemn, since he wanted to be invited to sit with Papa more often. 

The doorman, Tavor, opened the doors and announced, “Lindir and Nordheth of Mirkwood are here to see Lord Elrond.” 

Estel was about to wave to Tavor when he caught his Elrond’s eye. He hastily put down his hand. 

The two Elves whom Estel had seen earlier in the day entered the room and knelt before Elrond, bowing their heads. Estel was surprised at this, for he knew there was usually not so much formality in Imladris; perhaps things were done differently in Mirkwood. 

Apparently, Elrond did not like the formality either, because he asked them to rise again nearly as soon as their knees hit the floor. 

Estel openly stared at the two Mirkwood Elves as they rose. They had not changed clothes before entering the presence of Lord Elrond. The one in green-gray was a slender male with a long face, dressed a little more formally than the other. The Elf in the darker colors was female, and she had the shortest hair Estel had ever seen on an Elf: it was cut just above her shoulders. Both looked exhausted, as if they had been riding hard and had stopped but little. 

“You have a message for me?” Elrond asked them. 

“My Esteemed Lord,” said the Elf in gray. “Thank you for granting us audience on such short notice. I am Lindir, of Mirkwood, advisor to King Thranduil. My companion is Nordheth, whom you know has long been the courier between Imladris and Mirkwood.” 

Estel could not remember ever seeing Nordheth before. But then, he could not remember King Thranduil ever sending a message before. All he knew of Mirkwood was a little spot on one of Papa’s maps. 

Lindir continued, “The King would send his most humble apologies regarding his son’s unseemly imposition upon your well-known hospitality. The king asks pardon for his son’s behavior and that you will send him home with us as soon as possible.” 

“But how could the king know his son was here?” wondered Elrond aloud. “For it is true that we recently found a wounded stranger in our midst, but that was only yesterday. Could he have been in the valley so long without our knowing?” 

“That could well be, Lord Elrond,” Nordheth put in. “For all the Mirkwood Elves are wood-wise.” 

When Glorfindel subtly raised a brow at Elrond, Estel knew right away what he was thinking. Why had Papa thought the stranger might be King Thranduil’s son? He hadn’t said anything about that. 

Elrond looked thoughtful. “Well, if our injured friend is indeed the son of Thranduil, he cannot be moved as yet. Nor will I dismiss him if he asks for sanctuary here, unless you can tell me of some reason why we should not.” 

Lindir and Nordheth glanced at one another, trying to communicate without words. Finally Lindir turned back to Elrond. “We cannot speak of our reasons without the King’s consent, I am afraid.” 

Estel could see his Papa begin to look frustrated. 

Glorfindel leaned towards Elrond. “Perhaps, Lord Elrond, it would be wise to let the messengers speak with your patient. At least they can identify him for certain as the son of their king.” 

Elrond nodded slowly. “There is some merit to what you say. But,” he warned the other Elves. “You will only speak to him for a moment, and you will not upset him.” 

Another glance was exchanged between the two. 

“We will do our best, my lord.”

 

Once again, Estel was forced to leap to keep up with the older Elves in a hurry. His mind raced almost as fast as his feet. Was the strange Elf indeed the king’s son? And if so, why was he gone from Mirkwood, and why would King Thranduil have to send messengers to bring him back? 

As they reached the Hall of Healing, Elrond and Glorfindel went in first. On the other side of the room, Nestwen rose, bowed, and left. Estel stopped too quickly and his smooth leather-soled shoes nearly slid out from under him. 

The injured Elf turned his head to face the party of Elves near the passageway. 

“Why, Lindir, Nordheth,” said the patient calmly. “What a great surprise to see you here.” In fact, the Elf did not look surprised at all. Instead, he was wearing an expression of self-satisfaction. 

Nordheth looked shocked, her mouth opening and closing without sound, and Lindir made much the same face Estel thought he might have made upon finding half a worm in his apple. 

“But – but –“ Lindir sputtered to the Elf in bed, “Where is Laegyrn? Why are you here?” 

The patient’s eyebrows rose. “Did you not notice me missing? Ah, well, I should expect such things by now, I suppose.” 

“Wait a moment,” Elrond interrupted. “What is going on here? Is this King Thranduil’s son or not?” 

”Oh, aye!” said Nordheth sharply. “It is Thranduil’s son, right enough. Only it happens this is not the son we are looking for. This is Legolas Greenleaf, the king’s younger son. It is Laegyrn Thranduilion, King Thranduil’s eldest, that we have been seeking!” She added with a withering look at Legolas, “As you well know. Where is he?” 

Legolas looked smug. “I am sure I could not say, my lady. Did you look yet under the bed?” 

Nordheth and Lindir both began to go red in the face, but before any angry words could begin, Elrond said in a loud voice, “I think that is enough. I would hate to tire, er, Legolas. And I did only promise you two a few moments. Meanwhile, Glorfindel and Erestor will be happy to show you to your rooms. Please, enjoy the hospitality of the House of Elrond.” 

Glorfindel took that as a cue and began to usher the objecting Elves out of Legolas’ room. 

Estel sat on the bed, although he was not supposed to. He watched as his papa and Legolas looked at each other. 

“So,” said Elrond. 

“So,” Legolas replied. 

“You left a trail behind you that my seven-year-old son of Men could find,” Elrond said. He did not sound angry, but he did sound as if he were asking a question. 

“Estel must have sharp eyes,” Legolas returned. He gave Estel a smile, which the boy returned. 

“But not as sharp as an Elf of Mirkwood,” countered Elrond. “An Elf of Mirkwood would have noticed that he was leaving such marks on the ground.” 

“Perhaps I did not,” Legolas said, looking at the ceiling. 

“Perhaps.” Elrond was silent a few moments. “I meant what I said about you needing to rest, son of Thranduil. And when you awaken, remember that, as you have been told, I and my household are at your service.”


	3. Language Lessons

Before supper that evening Estel had a language lesson with Glorfindel. Or at least, he was supposed to have had a language lesson with Glorfindel. Although Elrond had provided a very pleasant, comfortable room for formal studies and all Estel's tutors tried to keep the lessons short in deference to his age, languages were an exercise that neither Glorfindel nor Estel really enjoyed.

"I do not like the Common Tongue," Estel said grouchily. "It is ugly." He rested his chin on folded arms and glared at Glorfindel from under lowered brows. "Besides, I shall never need it. I shall never live with my mother's people. I am going to stay in Imladris." 

Glorfindel sighed with the weariness of one who has covered the same arguments over and over again. "Someday you may change your mind, Estel, and then you will be glad to speak as others of your race do."

Estel glowered. "I will not change my mind," he muttered. "And I do not like the way the words sound. When I hear them they remind me of someone taken with a fit of coughing."

Glorfindel frowned. "I cannot dispute that. Nevertheless, Lord Elrond has commanded that you learn the tongue of your mother's people, and learn it you must. Come, we will start with these words here. Do you remember the word for-"

"I do not wish it," Estel said again, and this time with resolute stubbornness he pushed the short list of words away, nearly tipping the inkwell in the process.

Glorfindel was taken aback. "This is not like you, Estel. You never behave like a spoiled child. What is the matter?" 

Estel was silent. 

Glorfindel tried again, more gently. "Estel? Does something trouble you?"

Estel scowled harder. Glorfindel waited with a patience earned over the course of three ages. 

Finally, after many long moments, a small, shiny tear laid a trail from the corner of Estel's eye and down his sullen face to drip off of his chin. Estel didn't move until Glorfindel put an arm around him. Then Estel buried his face in his arms and began to cry in earnest, making both choked noises and sputtering incomprehensible words. 

Glorfindel, more than a little bemused, patted Estel's back and said silly, meaningless things like, "There, there," and "now, now." 

It seemed as though once started, Estel really could not stop crying. Through the sobs Glorfindel thought he made out the words, "not fair" and "maps" and "blossoms." Glorfindel had not Elrond's powers of deduction and could make nothing of this. 

"What is that you say?" Glorfindel asked during a lull. "What is not fair?"

"Elladan teaches me tracking," wailed Estel.

Glorfindel was perplexed by this. "But you like to go with Elladan to learn wood lore."

"And you teach me history," sniffled Estel, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Glorfindel winced and resolved that hereafter he would always carry a handkerchief on his person. "Well, I like history. I was there for much of it."

Estel nodded as if it should all make sense now. "And Erestor likes figures, so he teaches me arithmetic. And Elrohir likes maps, so he teaches me maps. And Papa teaches me herbs and how to read better."

"Yes…" Glorfindel tried hard to understand the little boy, but he was finding it difficult.

Estel nodded tearfully and took a shivery gulp of air. "Mother likes the Common Tongue. She doesn't even speak Sindarin unless she has to." He began to cry all over again.

Then Glorfindel knew what Estel was trying to say and he felt his heart drop. "Oh, Estel." He pulled the little boy onto his lap and tried to comfort him. 

When Estel spoke again it was in fractured phrases, for he had reached the hiccupping stage common with small children who have cried too hard to breathe properly. "I brought her some cherry blossoms… to make her feel better… and she said she liked them, but she still said she wouldn't teach me. She said you would do just as well… And then she sat at her window again and she would not look at me and I do not think she l-lo-" Estel could not make himself say the words and began to sob once more. 

Fearless, joyful Glorfindel would cheerfully have wrung Gilraen's neck just then. "This cannot continue," he said angrily, more to himself then Estel.

Estel thought the anger must be directed at him and began to pull away from the older Elf.

"Not you, Little One," Glorfindel said, pulling Estel back. "You are fine where you are. Shh. Your mother loves you, Estel. She is just - sad."

Whether it was simple good fortune, or whether Elrohir had been near and his sharp Elf ears had caught the sound of crying, he was walking past the door of the school room in time to hear Glorfindel's last remark. 

Concerned with Estel, Elrohir stopped and raised his eyebrows in inquiry. Glorfindel continued, with a pointed glance at Elrohir, "Perhaps if someone explained to your mother how important it is to you that she teach you the Common Tongue herself, she would consent to do so."

"No, she will not," snuffled Estel. "She never pays any attention to me." 

Elrohir gave Glorfindel a "we-shall-see-about-that" look and disappeared down the hall, leaving Glorfindel somewhat better satisfied. Elrohir was a very determined Elf, and, better, he had become a sort of friend to Gilraen, in so far as Gilraen had any friends in Imladris.

 

Legolas flipped idly through a book, not in the mood to read. He glanced at Nestwen, who was primly rolling bandages, and decided it was not worth it to attempt conversation again. He was already bored, yet he knew that he probably had several more days in bed to contend with and it was no one's fault but his own.

Elves heal rapidly, but earlier in the day Legolas had heard Nordheth and Lindir beyond the hall and had made the mistake of rising from bed and leaving his room to hear better. Unfortunately, not only did Legolas hear nothing of value, but he succeeded in making his ankle much the worse by walking on it.

Nestwen had scolded him roundly when she saw him up out of bed and putting weight on his injury, and then, to Legolas' great embarrassment, she brought Lord Elrond from whatever important thing he was doing to the Hall of Healing to see to Legolas. 

Elrond had sighed when he had seen the new damage. "It would have been well if you had not walked on it," he had said as he examined the newly swelling ankle. "I did not think to tell you that you should not, for I thought you would know better."

"Aye," Legolas agreed blandly, though his cheeks flushed a little. "It is not surprising that you thought so."

Elrond rubbed the end of his nose thoughtfully, and then fixed Legolas with a gaze that was half stern, half amused. "Well, I will tell you this time: you should not walk on it again until I give you leave, or you will risk harming yourself further."

"I will try not to," Legolas acquiesced meekly. Truly, Lord Elrond was being very patient with the abrupt invasion on his household, and Legolas was sorry to be a nuisance. 

Elrond shook his head in exasperation. He had been a parent long enough to know the difference between "I'll try not to" and "I will not," but he did not press the issue.

After Elrond left, Legolas found himself restless. There were plenty of books to read and Nestwen to tease, but Legolas had never liked sitting still for long and Nestwen didn't seem to have a very good sense of humor. 

Trapped as he was abed, Legolas had little to do but ponder the events that had led him here. 

The first part of the plan he and Laegyrn had laid had worked very well. After Thranduil's search party - Nordheth among them - had been dispatched to find any sign of Laegyrn, Legolas had purposefully laid a trail leading the pursuers to the North, toward the Grey Mountains. He took the most taxing trails possible, giving his brother time to reach the safety of Lorien, always staying far enough ahead that he was sure the search party would not catch up with him. Then Legolas had turned and led them all on a merry chase down the Anduin river. And finally, he'd begun to take a direct path through the Misty Mountains and in the direction of Imladris. 

He'd watched from a tree a fair distance away as one rider from the party had gone straight back in the direction of Mirkwood, presumably to give a message to the royal household that it looked as though Thranduil's eldest son had gone on to the Last Homely House to seek sanctuary there. At this point, Nordheth and the remaining searchers had set up camp for some time. They had apparently decided to wait for further instruction, since entering Imladris would involve issues of diplomacy. 

By then Laegyrn would have had ample time to enter Lorien several times over, so Legolas continued to Imladris, planning to stay for a short time and then decide where to go from there. Legolas deduced that at some time after he had entered the valley, Lindir had come from Thranduil's household bearing a message: Lindir and Nordheth would go on to Imladris. But since Elrond's relationship with Thranduil was sometimes tense, Thranduil would certainly not have the entire tracking party intrude upon Lord Elrond's hospitality.

Legolas smiled to himself. His father had been wise in sending Lindir, who had been a good friend to Laegyrn, and whom his brother respected. Lindir might have succeeded in persuading Laegyrn to return, had Laegyrn actually been in Imladris. Moreover, both Lindir and Nordheth were proving very discreet thus far: a good thing, since Legolas was sure his father would not want to share the events of the last few months with Lord Elrond. 

Legolas tried to think of what he should do next. Should he return home now? Or should he try and join his brother in Lorien and hear what Galadriel had decided? Might he even remain where he was until affairs worked themselves out? Imladris was very different from lively and sometimes dangerous Mirkwood. It made for a relaxing change. Legolas lay back onto his pillow. He need not decide now, he supposed: at present he could not even leave his very comfortable bed.

 

On the other side of the Last Homely House, at the end of a long corridor, a heavy oak door barred the way to a silent set of chambers. Within, Gilraen sat by the window with her embroidery on her lap, remembering other places and other days in May. She was not sewing, but the needle and thread let her pretend that she was not entirely idle. 

Though the doors in Lord Elrond's house were heavy, they had no locks: it was presumed that everyone knew they should not intrude on someone else's privacy without knocking, and in fact it was an unvoiced rule that one did not even knock without invitation. So Gilraen was very surprised when someone strode into the room unannounced and unapologetic. 

One of the twins, Gilraen saw. Elladan? No, Elrohir. Definitely Elrohir. The twins looked alike but Elladan could always be counted on to wear more subdued colors, and this Elf was wearing leaf-green trimmed with gold.

Elrohir began to speak Sindarin, but so quickly that Gilraen found it hard to follow. The Elf seemed unusually agitated.

"Slowly, if you please," Gilraen said in the Common Tongue, wondering apprehensively what could be wrong. 

Elrohir paused and took a good look around him.

After five years at Rivendell, it seemed Gilraen had not decorated her chambers beyond what Lord Elrond had given her during the first week of her stay. This room had remained all bare white walls and silver-white wood and silver-blue cloth. The chamber was fair, but unadorned and pale, just as Gilraen herself was still fair and yet plainly dressed and pale. In the room where Gilraen sat, a cobalt blue vase full of bright pink blossoms stood on the table, incongruous with the lack of color around it. In a similar way, within the snowy pale of Gilraen's face deep purple-pink shadows lay under her bright blue eyes. 

Elrohir saw all of this, and he was silent for a short time before he began speaking again, this time in the language of Men. "My Lady, I do ask your forgiveness for interrupting you, but I must speak to you. It is regarding Hope."

Gilraen smiled sadly. "Ah. Then you have come to the wrong place, good Elf, for you will find no hope here."

Elrohir breathed in slowly, then exhaled. "I meant," Elrohir gritted out, "your son, whom all of Rivendell calls 'Estel' - Hope, you would say in your tongue. Surely you know the name, Lady Gilraen."

"Oh," Gilraen said absently, poking the needle at the cloth she held. "Yes, Estel. I suppose I was unused to hearing the name in Westron. Does he need something from me, Elrohir?" 

"Yes, Gilraen, he needs something from you. He needs a mother, just as he has needed one yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that." 

Elrohir waited for Gilraen to speak, but she made no sound. Instead she shook her head and gazed at the beginnings of something in her embroidery hoop: five neat, red stitches were sewn side by side on a field of black. It might have been a flower petal. It might also have been a drop of blood.

Elrohir sighed, crossed the room to Gilraen, and knelt by her. "Gilraen, we must talk. I am sorry I must come to you this way. I know you still mourn your husband -"

Gilraen laughed, and it startled Elrohir.

"You think I mourn Arathorn?" she said bitterly. "My Lord was thrice my age, Elrohir, and a stern man, not much given to affection. Anyone will tell you so."

The Elf blinked in for a few seconds. "For what, then, do you mourn, my Lady?" Elrohir asked softly.

At first Elrohir thought Gilraen would not answer; then, as if something within her snapped, she abruptly flung her needlework to the floor and stood. 

"What do I mourn? Must I make a list? Perhaps I mourn my home, or my lands! Perhaps I mourn my kinfolk, for I cannot see them again until Aragorn is safely on the throne - though whether that will ever happen no one can tell. Perhaps I mourn the view from my rooms in my own home, or the loss of the children I might have had, or my son's name - or maybe I only mourn for my best blue dress! Must I decide what I mourn for, son of Elrond, when I have lost everything? Must I make excuses for my sadness? Were I an Elf I could at least choose to fade away, or make for the Havens, but as I cannot will you not at least grant me my right to grieve for whatever I choose?"

Elrohir was silent for several moments. "Lady," at last Elrohir said carefully, "you have not spoken of this to any of us."

"And why should I?" Gilraen sat again, wearily, and picked up her abandoned needlework. "What if I spoke of it all? What would it change?"

"It would let us understand you better," Elrohir said gently. "Here you sit, day after day, and neither my father nor my brother nor I know what it is that grieves you so, for you say nothing."

"Everything grieves me," Gilraen said quietly, looking again out her window.

"Even your son?" Elrohir pressed. "Lady, he mourns for the loss of you, just as you mourn for the loss of your kin and your home. If ever I have been a friend to you, or if you think you owe me ought for saving your life, please go to him. See him just once or twice a day, so that he can look forward to you. He misses you, and he does not understand why you forsake him."

Gilraen buried her face in her hands. "I have not the strength to be happy around him, Elrohir. Elrond is as a father to him, and a good one. Aragorn has no need of me."

Elrohir said something sharply in Elvish which made Gilraen look up in astonishment. 

"What did you say?" Gilraen asked uncertainly.

"Something I ought not," Elrohir snapped. "Yet I find it difficult to be patient with you while your son sits crying five doors down the hall, thinking you do not love him."

"He - he isn't really, is he?" Gilraen looked a little frightened at the Elf's tone, and very young.

Well, she is very young, Elrohir reminded himself. She was a young bride, even among the Dunedain. "He is," Elrohir affirmed, "or he was a few minutes ago." He continued in a slightly more kind tone, "Will you not come to dine tonight with all the family and guests, instead of eating here? Estel would be very glad to see you." 

Gilraen fiddled with her thread unhappily. "I don't-"

"I will be there, and so will Elladan," Elrohir reassured. "And I do not think you will need to say much to Estel. It will be enough for him that you are present."

"Hope," said Gilraen, softly, tracing the line of her embroidery hoop with one finger. "Yes, I will go. And I will… I will see him every day, so that he knows I still care for him. I do not wish that my son cry for me. That sorrow, at least, I can cure."


	4. An Eventful Dinner

Light from the sconces lit the room brightly when Glorfindel carried a still hiccoughing, red-eyed child to the dinner table that night. As often happened when guests arrived, the table had been laid out with bright cloth and the most tantalizing feast the cook was capable of preparing.

It was the custom in Elrond's house that not only the family, but all of the household and guests as well, dined together at the evening meal. Glorfindel had always enjoyed this habit, but it did make it difficult to slip into dinner unobtrusively. He tried to walk with some amount of dignity as he went up the steps of the dais to sit at the long table. Elrond sat at its head, and Glorfindel seated himself to the Elrond's right. Elrond raised his brows at Estel's state. 

"A difficult lesson?" Elrond inquired with concern.

"For us both," Glorfindel affirmed, settling the little boy beside him. "I do not think Estel learned any Westron tonight, but I am not sorry, for he told me of something that has been troubling him. I will be glad to share it with you at another time." He flicked his gaze across to Nordheth and Lindir, who sat to Elrond's left tonight. Glorfindel had no wish to air family grievances in public, or to embarrass Estel.

Elrond gave a nod, reaching across the table to touch Estel's hair. "A hard day, my son?"

Estel gave a snuffle and shrugged. 

"Might you tell me about it later?" 

Estel shook his head to the negative. He did not want to discuss his unhappiness any more.

Elrond was about to speak again but was interrupted by Elladan, who greeted his father merrily and sat down next to Nordheth. At a signal from Elrond, a servant sang thanks and the meal officially began.

"Elladan, what have you brought to the table?" Elrond asked, noticing the folded jacket his son was holding. It moved slightly. "I hope that is not another baby squirrel."

"No, Father." Elladan shook his head, balancing the bundle in one hand while he reached for the wine. "It is a baby fox. I found it at the cave. I believe the tree struck its mother when it fell." At his father's look he explained, "It must stay with me or it will get too cold."

Elrond sat back in his chair and drummed the table with his fingers. "I have told you before, Elladan, that animals do not belong at the table." Elrond's voice was firm. "If I allow you to bring your fox, then it follows that I must allow Estel to bring his frog or his beetle."

"Yes, father," Elladan said serenely, yet eyeing the stuffed quail its silver platter. "I only wish a bite to eat first." He glanced at Estel. "What is the matter, Estel? Not having a very good day?" His coat moved a little. 

"Let me see!" Estel commanded with excitement, misery forgotten, as he half crawled onto the table and leaned forward to peer at the bundle his foster brother held. 

Elladan grinned and pulled away one corner so that all present could see the tiny head of the sleeping fox.

Lindir and Nordheth exchanged glances. Thranduil would not have been nearly so tolerant of this unorthodox behavior.

"Oooh," said Estel, reaching toward the baby animal. "May I pet it, Elladan?"

"Better not to," Elladan said. "It is sleepy right now, and it still nips. Perhaps after I - "

"Elladan," cut in Elrond with a hint of impatience. "I say again, you may not bring your animals to my table. Particularly when we have guests," he added meaningfully.

Elladan drew back, blinking, and took in the two Mirkwood visitors. "I do beg your pardon," Elladan said, rising hastily. "You must be Nordheth and Lindir." He again balanced his jacket with one hand while trying to load a plate to carry away with the other. "I am Elladan, son of Elrond, and I am at your service. Do excuse me from the table tonight; I seem to be indisposed. Er, Father, would we have any baby bottles down in storage somewhere?"

"I do not think so," Elrond said, grateful that his son had taken his hint at last. "There have been no infants in the house for some time. Perhaps if you used a wine bottle and made a small hole in the cork, it would do." 

"A good thought," Elladan agreed, somehow managing to seize the half-empty bottle of wine off the table as well. He turned to the visitors. "I hope you have a pleasant meal. Good night Glorfindel, Father. Good night, Estel. Do not cause too much trouble," he added, with a grin at the little boy.

"Well!" said Lindir after Elladan had gone, "Imladris seems fated to come by all sorts of strays: injured elves, humans, orphaned foxes…"

"Not orphaned," Estel corrected, luckily oblivious to having been included in the list of "strays." "Elladan is taking care of it now. Papa says we have no orphans in Imladris. It is a tradition."

All eyes turned to Elrond, who flushed slightly. "That is so. It was my - But here is Erestor at last!" 

The councilor made his way to the table and sat at the place that Elladan had so recently vacated.

"Good Evening, Erestor," Glorfindel said cheerfully. "What kept you? You are not often late."

"Walnuts," said Erestor with a glum look, unfolding his napkin. "According to the inventory, there is half a case of walnuts missing from the cellar."

Elrond suppressed a laugh, for he knew Erestor took his job seriously. "I am sorry, my friend, but I am sure there is no need for worry. We can muddle through the summer on a few less walnuts."

Erestor, who had taken up his fork to use it on his meat, used it to gesture in a circle in the air instead. "But where have they gone? That is the problem, Lord Elrond, not that they are missing. Did someone miscount? Has the cook used them? Did someone eat them for a snack and forget to say so?" Here he cast a glance at Estel, who scowled. The two did not understand each other well and were not always on the best of terms. "They must have gone somewhere."

"Perhaps some small animal found the way into the cellar," Glorfindel said seriously, with a twinkle in his eye. "Have you thought to set out some traps? Or perhaps you should set a guard. Even two or three." Elrond shot him a look, quite sure Glorfindel had no interest in the missing walnuts at all, but was simply baiting Erestor into worrying.

Erestor, as usual, did not see the joke. "Well, a guard would not be necessary unless the traps did not work. But I did not see any shells around the ground, so I think it was not-"

"MAMA!" shrieked Estel, nearly standing up in his chair.

Sure enough, Elrohir was leading a nervous Gilraen to the table. Elrond was startled, but pleased. "Lady Gilraen! This is a pleasant surprise. Please, come and sit with us."

Giving all a small smile, Gilraen sat down by her son, with Elrohir on her other side. She bent and gave her son a kiss on the top of his head. "My Greetings, Darling," she said in Westron.

"Good Evening, Mama," Estel returned carefully in the same language. "Mama" had been one of the few words he had retained in Common speech.

"Is Elladan not here tonight?" Gilraen asked, looking around. 

Glorfindel shifted into Common to accommodate her. "He has found another animal, and is caring for it."

"Ah," Gilraen nodded. She did not feel much like eating, but she supposed it would be only polite to do so. But where was the wine? Had Lord Elrond forgotten it tonight?

Gilraen searched her mind for something to talk about. "What did Elladan find this time?"

As everyone else continued to converse in Westron in order to include Gilraen, Estel began to get bored. Trying to understand the other language was too much work. He occupied himself instead by studying the visitors. They were quite different from the Elves he was used to. Their manner of dress was strange, and they often had an unusually formal manner, as if Papa were king of a castle and not just Papa of the Homely House. And then there was the matter of Nordheth's hair. He knew Elves found long hair attractive, and both male and female Elves typically had hair well past their shoulders and often much longer than that. Why was Nordheth's hair so short? Indeed, when Papa cut Estel's hair, he often had a hard time deciding how long to leave it, for though it was thick and tangled easily, Elrond was loath to cut it off - and Estel was not even an Elf!

Nordheth did not seem to be talking to anyone, so Estel decided to ask her about it.

"Lady Nordheth?" Estel spoke in Sindarin. 

The Elf heard Estel and smiled at him. "Yes, Little One?"

"Why is it that you have cut your hair so short?"

All conversation at the table stopped. Estel felt a nudge at his shin, and he scooted back in his chair so he would not get accidentally kicked again.

"Did you cut it that way on purpose?" There was another slightly stronger nudge at Estel's shin, and he again wiggled to give himself more space.

"I apologize, Nordheth," Elrond intervened swiftly, trying to catch Estel's eye and failing. "His age gifts him with a great deal of curiosity."

"No, do not worry," Nordheth said. "I do not mind. Yes, Estel, I cut it purposefully. An Orc caught me by the hair once, and as it was not an experience I care to repeat I have kept my hair short ever since." 

"Oh." Estel considered. Orcs were a serious subject in Elrond's house, and though he could not remember ever seeing an Orc, Estel knew they were very dangerous. "But how did you get away, if the Orc caught you by your hair?" Estel turned to Elrond, frowning. "Papa, might you move your feet a little? Your foot keeps kicking me under the table." Seeing the flush on Elrond's face, he added generously, "I am sure you do not mean to."

Glorfindel gave a laugh, and Erestor said, "Well, really!"

But Nordheth answered Estel's question without objection. "My hair was cut off with a sword during the fight, and so I escaped." She gave a feral grin. "And a bit of the Orc -" Glorfindel gave a cough and Nordheth quickly temporized, "And a bit of the Orc's fingers might have been cut as well. That was the first time my hair had ever been cut, and I have never felt the need to grow it out again."

"That was an adventure, indeed! But, Lady Nordheth, there are no Orcs near Imladris. They would not come in the valley, and my brothers hunt them all the time. So if you wished, I think my Papa would be able to grow your hair long, now that you are here. He is a healer, and I think that he is able to do such things."

"Estel," said Elrond, finally deciding subtle messages were of no use. "I think it is time to drop a subject which may make our guest uncomfortable."

"Oh. Sorry, Papa. I beg your pardon, Lady Nordheth."

"No harm done," Nordheth assured, continuing calmly with her meal. 

There was a long silence, and then Glorfindel announced loudly that he was hoping to hear some good singing after dinner, and wouldn't Elrond consent to sing and perhaps have Estel sing a little tune as well, since he had such a very nice voice? 

On Estel's other side, he heard his Mother whisper to Elrohir in Westron. "Elrohir? What just happened?"

 

Much later, after the meal had been put away and the two Mirkwood Elves walked to the Hall of Fire to hear the promised singing, Nordheth began to laugh.

"What is it?" Lindir asked.

"That was certainly an eventful dinner," Nordheth chuckled. "Can you imagine what would have happened if it had taken place at the King's table? Small animals, people in and out -" 

Linder laughed too. "Indeed, I cannot. It is little wonder King Thranduil never visits Lord Elrond. He would not have lasted past the fox at the table."

This set off another peal of laughter from the two of them. King Thranduil was not a bad person, but he did like protocol, especially in public.

"Actually," Lindir said when the chuckles died down. "I rather liked it. It was not dull."

"No," agreed Nordheth, "It was not that." She paused thoughtfully. "Perhaps it would be a good thing if Legolas stayed here a while."

Lindir pondered, as well. "Perhaps it would be a good thing for us, too."


	5. More Lessons: Tracking and Etiquette

Legolas rested in the swaying branches of the beech, and closed his eyes to better appreciate the scent of Narcissus flowers and feel the caress of the cool, mild breeze. He was glad to finally be out of his room, as pleasant as Elrond's house may have been. He had never cared much for being indoors, and the tree was a good place to think. 

He was pondering whether he ought to go home, since he could not lead the search party any farther astray now. Thranduil would not be happy about Legolas' part in leading his brother's pursuers on a fool's errand, but there was, after all, no crime in walking to Imladris, even if he had taken rather a long way around. 

The branches held Legolas gently, rocking him as he mulled over the possibilities, and each tree of the valley whispered that Imladris was a place of peace. 

Legolas could have stayed that way for a long time, but in the midst of his rest his sharp ears caught the sound of footsteps coming closer. He turned his head and looked down to see a strange procession coming into the glade below. Estel came in front, running, then bouncing in place for a few seconds, then running again. Behind him was an Elf in forest-colored clothes with a rook on his shoulder, and behind them stepped a tiny fox cub, sniffing in circles after every step. 

In the middle of the glade, the Elf with the crow took something out of the front pocket of his tunic, then scooped up the little fox and deposited it within the folds of his cloak. Legolas leaned farther over to see what was happening. 

On the ground, the Elf let Estel move closer to see the creature held in his hands: a lively little field mouse. 

"This is a good place," Estel’s tall friend said. "Close your eyes." The Elf walked very quietly a few paces away and bent down to release the soft gray mouse back into the grass. The crow flapped its wings in annoyance. "Keep them closed." 

Estel shifted from one foot to the other impatiently, his eyes still screwed tightly closed. "I am not looking, Elladan. Is it gone yet?" 

The Elf called Elladan stroked the head of the large crow that sat on his shoulder and stooped down to get a better look at the mouse fast disappearing through the brush. "A moment longer… Now! You may open your eyes!" 

Estel opened his eyes. He looked first at Elladan, who stood with the crow on his shoulder and a pair of black fox eyes peeking over a bulge in his cloak. 

Estel walked first nearer to Elladan's well-used boots and studied the earth beside them, then went down on his knees and scrutinized the raw earth between the leaves and pine needles and grass. 

"This is hard," Estel said, intent on looking for signs of the little creature. 

Elladan watched the boy search for a few minutes. "Do you need help in order to get started?" he asked. 

Estel shook his head. "No, I will be able to do it. Let me look." 

Legolas watched with interest from his tree. In truth, he was not sure to what extent Men were capable of tracking animals as Elves were, and he feared Elladan might have given Estel an impossible task. He knew the Rangers of the north often tracked remarkably well - given their limited eyesight - but he had never asked about or tested their limits. He wondered if Elladan had trouble assessing, at times, when he should stop treating Estel like an Elfling and accept that the boy had reached his potential as a Man. 

Just as Legolas had decided that Estel was not able to find the mouse, after all, Estel surprised him by exclaiming, "I see it,Elladan! I see a part of the print of the mouse's toes!" 

"Very good!" Elladan praised. "Now, can you tell which direction it went?" 

Estel scooted along on his knees, looking carefully, and pointed. "In that direction. And Elladan, look! Here is another place where his tail touched the ground!" 

"You are doing well. Do you think you can follow it?" 

Estel nodded, once again sliding along the muddy earth. "I see the path." He looked up at Elladan again. "I do not think I can track it quietly, Elladan. If I am on my knees, I will make noise, but if I stand I will not be able to see so well." 

Legolas noted that the boy, at least, seemed to know his own limitations. 

Elladan, apparently, was used to accommodating the abilities of the boy, and said, "You need only follow the mouse as far as you can. We will save 'quietly' for a different exercise." 

With great concentration and slowness, Estel began to lead Elladan across the glade. For the next fifteen minutes, Estel made his way toward the brush where the field mouse had disappeared. 

"I found it!" Estel cried, beginning to crawl under the brambles to find the mouse. 

"That is enough for today," Elladan said, putting a hand on the Estel's shoulder to stop him going farther. "Father will be surprised enough at the state of your clothes without you ripping them in the bushes as well." 

Estel himself seemed surprised as he looked down at himself and noticed his shoes and leggings were covered in mud and decorated with an occasional wet leaf. "I did not notice. Do you think Papa will mind?" 

Elladan smiled. "Not if it does not mark his floors. Come, let us go find Elrohir. You can tell him how very well you did today before you begin your geography lesson. I am very proud of you for finishing such a difficult task: a mouse is not any easy thing to track…What are you doing, Estel?" 

Estel was on his hands and knees again. "I found something else! Look!" 

Elladan came close to Estel and glanced down. "Many Elves walk in the glade." 

"I am going to follow these tracks, too." 

Elladan smiled indulgently. "If you like." He took out the small fox from a pocket in his cloak. The fox, once on the ground, again began to poke his nose at everything close by, and followed Elladan as he began to move. The crow squawked jealously, and Elladan reached into his pocket to bring out a treat for it. 

From his perch in the tree, Legolas watched with amusement as Estel carefully found the bowed grass where he had stepped on his way to the beech. Legolas had not been trying to hide his prints today, of course, but he was still impressed by the child’s abilities. The group on the ground came closer and closer until Estel abruptly stopped at the foot of the tree. 

"They end here," Estel said, pointing at the foot of the tree. 

"So it seems," Elladan replied, gazing upward. 

Legolas gave Elladan a jaunty wave, and Elladan smiled back. 

Estel focused on the ground for a few seconds, thinking hard, and then followed Elladan's gaze to Legolas. He jumped up and down with delight. 

"Legolas! Greetings! What are you doing up there?" 

"Greetings, Estel. I was only enjoying being in a tree again, and thinking. Who is your friend?" 

"This is Elladan, son of Elrond. Elladan, this is my friend Legolas, son of Th- Th-" 

"Thranduil," supplied Legolas. 

"Son of Thranduil," finished Estel. 

"Prince Legolas of Mirkwood? I had heard you had come, though I have not seen you." Elladan stroked the head of his crow thoughtfully. 

"No, you would not," Legolas replied. "For your father had ordered me to stay abed these past few days." The restriction had ostensibly been for his ankle, but Legolas knew he could have been up and around with crutches long before this. He suspected Elrond had known how very much Legolas had needed the rest. 

"I tracked a mouse today!" Estel said proudly. 

"So I saw," Legolas said. "I am very impressed. Following such a small creature is not easy without Elvish eyes." 

"I have very sharp eyes, don't I, Elladan?" 

"Aye," agreed Elladan. "And now, Estel, I am sorry to make you say good-by so soon, but Elrohir will be waiting for you by the river." 

Estel pouted. "But I don't want to go yet. I am talking to Legolas." 

Elladan leaned against the beech. "Yet you don't want to disappoint Elrohir, who is expecting you," he pointed out. 

Estel lowered his brows and scowled, and for a moment Legolas thought he would work himself into a temper. Instead, the little boy said at last, "Then I want Legolas to come and play with me while I do my maps." 

Legolas sent a questioning look to Elladan. 

"Elrohir will not mind that," Elladan confirmed. "But Legolas may have other plans for his afternoon than playing at geography with little boys." 

"No, I will come," Legolas said. Estel had come to his room with cheerful conversation every day since his arrival, and Legolas had begun to enjoy his company. Besides, Legolas thought, no matter how much he mused it would not make his decisions any easier. He swung lightly down from the tree, careful to favor the stronger foot, and he followed boy, Elf, fox and crow as they all set off toward Elrond's house. 

 

They passed the main bridge, and Legolas chuckled to himself as he saw that Ilothuir, whom Legolas knew from her assistance to Elrond in the Hall of Healing, was indeed standing on the bridge with a dark-haired Elf, whose face Legolas could not see. The two stood very close, with fingers interlaced. They seemed deep in conversation, oblivious to the world around them - until Ilothuir caught sight of Legolas, Elladan, and Estel. Apparently embarrassed, she took her lover by the hand and led him away, probably to somewhere more private. 

"Legolas!" came a call behind him. 

Legolas sighed as Lindir caught up with them. He tried to smile at his father's advisor, for he really had nothing against him, but he had known this moment would come and had not been looking forward to it. 

"You two go on. I will follow soon," Legolas promised. He turned back to Lindir. "My greetings, Lindir. Is there something I can help you with?" 

Lindir shook his head. "No, I only wanted to tell you that Nordheth has gone back out of the valley and over the pass to tell the rest of the camp to go back to Mirkwood. Those who came with us will tell the king that Laegyrn is not here, and that you were injured but are now well, and that Nordheth and I have volunteered to stay here with you. If you wish to return to Mirkwood soon, we will be happy to escort you." 

Legolas' eyebrows shot up. "Do I need a guard now, too? Tell me what I have done to warrant one!" 

Lindir looked away. "You do not understand. We stay here for your protection, not only as a guard. There were those who would accuse you of aiding your brother's escape, even in Mirkwood, and now that you have led half a dozen scouts astray it can only seem the more likely." 

Legolas gave a noncommittal shrug, half agreeing with the other Elf. "You are saying that there are those in Mirkwood who will be angry." 

"You cannot deny there has been a great deal of tension at home lately," Lindir answered. 

Legolas nodded, a wry smile playing on his lips. "True. So tell me, Counselor Lindir, what will you do if I do not choose to go back with you to Mirkwood for the time being?" 

Lindir hesitated. "The courier and I will remain here with you. King Thranduil will not wish us to lose track of you, but we will not force you to come with us unless he sends word that he wishes you to return home." 

Legolas snorted. It would take nearly a month for the riders to return to King Thranduil and then come again to Imladris with the king's orders. "You might well guess that he wishes me brought back to him." 

For the first time during their conversation, Lindir smiled. "I might well guess. But I will not." He laid a hand on Legolas arm. "I have known you since childhood, Legolas, and your brother as well. I would not wish ill for either of you." 

Legolas blinked in surprise. "I thank you, Lindir. That is… unexpected. And very kind." 

"Legolas!" called a childish voice from somewhere not far down the river. 

"I will go now," Legolas said. "Elrond's foster son seems to want me at a geography lesson. But Lindir, I - am grateful to you, for giving me the choice." 

Still smiling, Lindir bowed and turned away. 

 

Legolas was surprised to see that the geography lesson was not indoors, but beside the riverbank. Estel made happy introductions to Elrohir, who was a mirror image of Elladan in face and form, but was much less quiet. 

Then Estel took Legolas by the hand and tugged him to an area a few feet away where the earth was mostly bare. A map of the lands from Lindon to the Iron hills, and as far south as Gondor, lay drawn out in the sand near where the river passed. Smooth piles of rocks had been carefully placed for mountains, and twigs and pine needles abounded where the forested lands lay. Roads had been traced out, and rivers were shallow channels in the earth. 

Legolas was taken aback. He had never known a child to be taught the lay of the land in any way other than maps on parchment coupled with solid study. 

"Can he truly learn anything from this?" Legolas asked Elrohir in wonderment. 

"Oh, aye," affirmed Elrohir. "If you lay out before him a well-drawn map, he knows every pass and town is, and names each." 

From a box beside him, Estel was already unpacking little carved pieces of wood apparently meant to designate towns or cities. When he finished he went to Legolas. "Let me show you! Here are the Misty Mountains, and the Anduin River flows this way, and this is our river, called Bruinen, or Loudwater. We live just here - this is Imladris. And here is Mirkwood, where you are from. The Great Forest is in the shape of a fish with its head cut off, see?" 

I had not noticed that before," Legolas said, laughing. "But it is so." Getting into the spirit of the game, he reached over for a small rock and nestled it among the twigs. "That shall mark the caves of my father, Thranduil." 

"And today we are building Rohan," Estel said enthusiastically. "And when we are finished, I will pretend to ride my horse there, and Elrohir will tell me everything we see." 

"Ingenious," murmured Legolas, walking around what would have been the Bay of Belfalas. "Much better than sitting inside and copying." 

"There will be some of that, too, later," Elrohir said. "But for now, this is enough." He winked at Legolas. "Would you care to help us build the White Mountains?" 

"Aye, gladly," said Legolas, for Estel clearly expected him to participate in this venture. He knelt down, trying not to disturb Gondor as he did so. 

"Well!" came a disgusted voice a few minutes later. "The son of King Thranduil, kneeling in the dirt and playing with stones. I'm sure your father would be proud, Legolas." 

Legolas turned and gazed upward at the Elf standing behind him, barely suppressing a groan. If he had had to count on his fingers the very last people he wanted to see just now, Medlin would have been in the top three. 

Estel looked up from his work, irritated. In his imaginings he had been riding a tall white horse through the gap of Rohan and over a lush green plain on his way to Gondor. He had not quite decided what he was going to do once he arrived in Gondor, but he was annoyed to be interrupted, just the same. 

A dark-haired Elf, short for his race, stood a few feet away. He dropped a bulky canvas bag to the ground and scowled at Legolas as if Legolas had done something extremely irksome. It was plain by the expression on Legolas' face that he did not like the stranger very much. 

"Well met, Medlin," Legolas said without enthusiasm. "I am surprised to see you here. I thought you were camped outside the valley with the others." 

"No doubt you did," said the new Elf in a cold voice. 

Estel took satisfaction in the mischievous little wind that blew just then, shaking pink blossoms from a nearby tree and carrying them in a small, circular storm around the grumpy Elf. Several flew neatly into his hair, and many danced right in front of his nose, causing the stranger to snort. 

"I am surprised to see you, too, as you might imagine," continued Medlin, waving his hand at the teasing blossoms as he might wave away a swarm of flies. "Nordheth made her way back to camp this morning to tell us all the story. You must have thought your deception very amusing. Had I any say in the matter, I and the rest of the tracking party would be taking you home today, willingly or no. But Nordheth says that she and Lindir will wait for word from your father as to his wishes." 

"Lindir has decided the matter, yes," said Legolas evenly, standing and brushing off his knees. He folded his arms and eyed at the other Elf. "He knows my father well. No doubt he knows best." 

"Faugh," spat Medlin. "Lindir is a fool." He added, "You were foolish also, Legolas. You should not have kept us all chasing nothing these past months." 

Estel's eyes grew round. He had never heard one Elf speak so rudely to another - not on purpose. Elrohir seemed dismayed as well, and he stepped forward hastily, placing himself partly in front of Legolas. 

"Medlin, was it? My greetings to you. I am Elrohir, son of Elrond, and I am at your service." Elrohir's tone was friendly and his smile welcoming. 

Almost everyone fell subject to Elrohir's agreeable nature right away, but Medlin scowled. 

"I am Medlin, servant of Thranduil. I thank you for your greetings." Estel thought that Medlin did not sound as if he really was thankful at all. 

"I had heard from Lindir that the scouting party was going back to Mirkwood today," Elrohir said pleasantly. "You are not planning to go with them?" 

If possible, Medlin looked more wrathful. "No, I am not. If Lindir is feeling softhearted and Nordheth unusually lazy, I, for one, am still the king's loyal subject. I intend on staying here and making full sure that Legolas does not wander off again and cause yet more harm." 

Estel pictured Medlin as the evil king Ar-Pharazôn, and found that it was not a difficult image to conjure. Nor was it difficult for him to imagine Medlin, as evil king Ar-Pharazôn, sinking ever so slowly into the sea with that same scowl affixed to his face. 

Legolas' mouth was in a tight line, but all he said was, "I see. My father is lucky, then, to have such a subject." 

"Well then!" Elrohir said easily. "Since you will be staying with us, Medlin, allow me to offer you the hospitality of Lord Elrond. May I help you find a room in our household? Unless you would rather stay in the guest cottage?" 

Estel guessed that, despite Elrohir's friendliness, Elrohir hoped the strange Elf would not choose to stay in the house. Estel certainly hoped he would not. 

Medlin snorted. "Would that you had offered all of the camp that same hospitality when we reached the valley! Yes, I will take a room in the house, if that is where Legolas stays, and I will take a room as close to his as possible, so that I might keep my eye on him." 

Legolas opened his mouth in angry objection, but Elrohir spoke first in calm, placating tones that reminded Estel of his papa. "Lindir did not ask that we offer hospitality to the Elves camped above, or we would have given it. We will see to your comfort, Medlin, but I do not know which of the guest rooms are still available, as we have had many visitors of late. Come, I will show you which rooms you may choose from, so that you can put away your gear and be at ease." 

Medlin might have denied Elrohir's invitation, but Elrohir picked up Medlin's pack and turned to lead the way to the main house. 

Medlin started to follow, then turned to Legolas. "I will be watching you, whatever new tricks you try." 

Cutting off any reply, Elrohir spoke quickly. "Medlin, I have just thought: perhaps I should send some supplies to go back with the others from your camp. Would you be so kind as to help me in choosing what might be most needed?" As Elrohir spoke, he moved towards the path, still carrying Medlin's baggage. Over his shoulder he said, "I think we are done for the day, Estel. You may do as you like until the evening meal." 

Estel nodded silently, feeling subdued by Medlin's antagonism. He watched as Elrohir and the unpleasant newcomer made their way to Elrond's house, and then turned to Legolas. 

"Medlin was not very nice to you," Estel said indignantly. 

Legolas gave a tired sigh. "No, he was not, was he? But he has been asked to deal with some difficult matters of late, so perhaps I should not hold too much against him." 

Estel stretched and stood, beginning to pack away his little towns and figures. "If my papa heard me talk to anyone that way, I would be having a very long Thinking Time. And Medlin is a grown-up, so he should know better." 

Legolas laughed. "Perhaps Medlin's papa was not as conscientious as yours." He changed the subject. "The weather is beginning to be warm. I have heard that the late spring festival, Nost-na-Lothion, is celebrated in Imladris. Will you be at the festival next week?" 

Legolas had unwittingly touched on a sore subject with Estel. The little boy scuffed the ground with his shoe. "Papa says the festival will be very late at night and I will not be allowed to stay awake so long. Again." Estel kicked at the dirt once more and displaced a portion of the White Mountains that he had just finished building. 

Legolas gave Estel a sympathetic smile. "I see. Well, no doubt you will be allowed to attend in a year or two. I have never been to Nost-na-Lothion, either, for it is not a tradition we carry on in the Great Forest. We have other festivals, of course." 

"I want to go this year," Estel groused. "But I cannot argue with Papa, I guess." 

Legolas patted Estel's shoulder in a conciliatory gesture. "That is very wise of you - when I was your age I would have screamed and stomped until I was hoarse when I wanted something I could not have." 

Estel gave Legolas a dubious glance. "Elf children do not throw temper tantrums," he said uncertainly. 

Legolas chuckled. "Oh, Estel, I do not know who has told you such things, but Elflings do indeed throw temper tantrums, as my mother and father would tell you." He paused, shaking his head as if at some half-forgotten memory. "Though Elflings are usually better behaved than children of Men or Dwarves, I was a very ill-behaved child indeed." Apologetically he added, "I do not mean you, of course. You are very well-mannered." 

"Yes," said Estel gloomily, "Erestor says the same." Estel had once heard Erestor say he was "abnormally well-behaved, especially for a mortal child." 

Estel was growing worried about all these passing comments. He had played with few children near his own age and had little basis for comparison: nearly everyone he knew was literally hundreds of times older than he. Would most children really throw tantrums to try and obtain an invitation to a night festival? 

Estel was about to ask Legolas what he thought, but when he saw his expression Estel asked instead, "Are you well?" For Legolas was very pale. 

Estel followed Legolas' gaze. He did not see anything but Calen-Glad and Ilothuir coming around the bend in the path. The couple and Legolas were all staring at one another with what seemed to be dismay. Then, without saying a word, Calen-glad turned and fled, and Ilothuir paused only a moment before following him. 

"Will you excuse me, young friend?" Legolas said in a strangled voice. "I think I must see your father's apprentices about something." He hurried off, leaving Estel to wonder what made adults' behavior so inexplicably strange.


	6. Evening Stars

Estel loved the library: it smelled like old paper and wood oil, and it had a large fireplace and many windows and places to sit and read. it was always bright and warm and quiet, and Elrond had a small study off to one side. Estel could see his papa through the open door, writing something on a piece of parchment. 

He began to pull some books from the shelves, mostly slender volumes with bright illustrations, and started to skim through them for information. He had decided to investigate the matter of the natural behaviors of the children of men. He soon forgot why he had come to the library, however, as he became immersed in a particularly good story, and he read on the floor without moving for a long while. 

"What are you so captivated with, Estel?" Elrond asked, breaking the silence and startling the little boy. Estel's papa had quietly moved into the library and now sat on the floor nearby, his arms wrapped around one drawn-up knee and his head tilted to one side with a look of interest. 

Estel pointed to a passage he had come to that had fascinated him. "It says here that the Elf-lord Thingol took the man-child Tùrin as his foster son. That is like us." 

"Yes, I suppose so," said Elrond slowly. "Although I am Peredhil: ‘half-Elven,’ as your people would say. I would not call myself an Elf-lord, as I have told you before." 

Estel ignored what to him was a meaningless distinction. "Tùrin's father was gone, too," Estel rambled excitedly. "And his mother was sad, like mine." 

Elrond, perhaps remembering what happened later in Tùrin's tale, gently took the book from his foster son and rubbed thoughtfully at the spine. "This is not your usual reading matter. When did you stop reading Tom Bombadil stories?" 

Elrond smiled at the little boy, but Estel, remembering why he had come, did not feel like smiling back. 

"Some of the words are hard, but I was reading it because…" Estel trailed off, not knowing how to ask his question. Instead he said experimentally, "I would like to go to Nost-na-Lothion this year." He left off the "please" on purpose. 

"We discussed the matter already, did we not?" Elrond slid the book back in its place on the shelf. "I am inclined to think it will keep you up too late, and then you would be too excited to sleep well afterwards and would be in an ill temper come the morn." He shook his head. "I am sorry, Estel, I truly do not think it a good idea. When you are older you may go." 

 

Taking a deep breath, Estel stood, ready to be unruly. Elrond's deep gray eyes followed placidly as Estel lifted his foot and prepared to stomp it down, hard. Yet, now that he was under Elrond’s calm gaze, Estel suddenly discovered he did not feel like stomping. Estel scrunched up his face and drew in a breath, ready to yell, but was unexpectedly intimidated by the profound silence of the library. Again Estel picked up his foot as if to stomp it, again he felt embarrassed and put his foot down lightly instead. 

Elrond watched all these proceedings with curiosity. "Estel, what are you doing?" 

Estel looked down at his shoe, twisting his toe. "Nothing," he said dejectedly, sitting once more. 

Lord Elrond rubbed his nose. "My son, I hardly dare ask, but…was that some variation of a fit of childish temper?" 

Estel drew his brows together morosely and slumped. "Well…it was supposed to be, but I felt silly." 

Elrond made a choking sound. Estel looked up suspiciously to see if Elrond was laughing, but he was only coughing loudly. 

"I did not know I had made you so angry," Elrond said when he had regained his composure. 

"No, you did not," admitted Estel. "I am disappointed, but I did not really feel very much like stomping my feet." 

Elrond rubbed his nose again, a sure sign that he was puzzled. "Then why did you decide to do so? You must know that I would not have granted you leave to go to the celebration just because you stomped at me." 

Estel shrugged, still unhappy. "I…Papa, am I a strange child? Different from other children?" 

Elrond was surprised. "What? No, of course not." He leaned forward to touch Estel's hair affectionately. "In fact, you remind me a little of Elladan when he was your size." 

"But Elladan was an Elf!" Elrond opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Estel continued, "I mean, am I like other mortal children? Other Men my age? Am I too good?" 

Elrond did laugh at this. "You are naughty enough at times." 

"As often as other children? Erestor and some of the others say that other mortal children are not like me. Even Legolas says so, and he has not been here a week yet." 

Elrond, seeing Estel was honestly concerned, smothered any hint of levity. He sat closer to Estel and wrapped an arm around the child. "Estel, you must understand that the valley itself is full of peace. Even were you not a child of good temperament - and I think you are - you would find yourself reluctant to become overly vexed about small matters." He smoothed the child's hair back - it never seemed to stay in its braids or clips. "I have been remiss, perhaps, in not seeing that children visit Imladris more often, but I am never certain…" he trailed off. "Well, that is my worry, not yours. I will try and find some playmates near your own age to visit us. Would you like that?" 

"Maybe," said Estel cautiously. It would be enjoyable to have a young friend, but his memories of visits with other children were always so … loud. 

Now that he had broached the subject, Estel decided to continue. "Papa, couldn't I come to the Nost-na-Lothion festival for a little while? Please? Someone could come and wake me," suggested Estel with a burst of ingenuity. "And then I would watch just for a while. I would go straight back to bed, I promise!" Had he but known it, pleading look he gave Elrond was far more effective than a tantrum would have been. 

Elrond's eyes crinkled with silent laughter. "Ai! Shall I reward your creative thinking? Or shall I do the easier thing…Very well. If you find someone to wake you and take you back to bed, you may watch the dancing for an hour only. But I cannot do it, for as the host I must stay on the green." 

"Thank you, Papa," Estel said, flinging his arms about his foster father in a grateful hug. "I will ask Mama if she will wake me." 

"That is a good plan," Elrond said slowly. "And I would very much like to see your mother enjoying herself. But remember that she has never been to a festival in Imladris, and she may not wish to go to this one." 

Estel was surprised. "Of course she will want to go, if I tell her what fun it will be." Estel sat back on his heels thoughtfully. "I had better ask Elrohir to come with me, in case I have trouble with my Westron." 

Elrond relaxed. "That is well thought of - Elrohir will certainly be of help to you." 

Estel nodded and carefully put the books back on the shelf before going in search of Elrohir. 

 

Since it was his first festival, Estel was determined to make the most of it. On the day of the festival of the Birth of Flowers, Estel went hunting for the most beautiful, unusual flowers he could find to weave into his hair that night. 

After many hours meticulously examining every flower anywhere near the house, Estel wandered to the bridge to watch the waterfall. As he looked up the side of the steep rise, he noticed a small, inconspicuous plant with the most elegant flowers imaginable growing about six feet up the side of the hill. They were delicate and star-shaped, of a pale, pale blue, with white streaks and a bright gold center. Estel was entranced. 

How had he missed them all this time? Could he reach them? It would certainly be difficult, but they were by far the most beautiful flowers he had seen. 

Estel began to climb up the embankment to pick them, but before he had gone very far he slid and fell back to the ground, scraping the palms of his hands as he tried to find a hold. Again he scrambled up the face of the hill, and this time he almost managed to grab the flowers when he lost his footing again. This time he scraped not only his hands, but his knee as well. 

Estel was beginning to doubt the wisdom of this venture. Yet, looking again at the pretty, star-shaped flowers, he was filled with determination. This time, he went slowly and chose each step with care. He had just closed his hand around the stems of the flowers when a stone came loose under his foot and he slid to the ground again, and thus he accidentally uprooted the entire plant. 

"Estel!" The little boy turned to look behind him and saw Glorfindel hurry forward. "I saw you fall. Are you hurt? What ever possessed you to climb in such a way?" 

Estel held out his prize with a grin. "I have my flowers for tonight. They are the prettiest in all of Imladris, are they not? Do you know what name they are given?" 

Glorfindel had an odd look on his face. "Evening Stars, they are called. They are very beautiful indeed. Estel, you did not take the whole plant, did you?" 

Estel looked at the flowers clutched in his hand. "I did not mean to. I slid." Elrond had a very strict rule when herb gathering that one should take no more than every fourth plant, or barring that, every fourth stem. But surely Elrond would understand about an accident. 

Glorfindel seemed troubled. "Ai, Estel, I know you did not mean to, but those flowers in your hand were planted from seeds that Elrond's wife brought from a very long way away. They only grow in this one place in the valley, and they are - were - a favorite of your papa's." 

Estel’s happiness turned to distress. "I am sorry - I did not mean to cause any harm. Do you think I could put them back?" 

Glorfindel shook his head, sighing. "I do not think so, Estel, but perhaps you had better go and show your father. He will want to know." 

"Then I shall go and tell him," Estel said dejectedly, and turned down the path. He did not think Elrond would be angry with him, but neither did he want his papa to be sad, and surely he would be. 

He took a shortcut up the back stairs of the house, and when he reached the landing he heard voices he recognized through a nearly closed door. 

"I do not know what else to do," Calen-Glad was saying in an unhappy voice. 

"We must do something soon," the voice of Ilothuir replied. "It becomes more and more difficult to avoid all three of them, and Lord Elrond is beginning to be suspicious. You have not been to the evening meal in more than a week. Besides, Elrond must surely know by now that you have little skill at healing." 

"Cannot you go back to Lothlórien?" This was Legolas. 

"Galadriel said that I would find my answer here," Calen-Glad replied. "I must discover the truth, or I will have no rest in Lothlórien or anywhere else." 

"I think we must tell Lord Elrond your story," Legolas said. "He may -" 

"Shh!" Ilothuir said. "What is that?" 

Estel realized he had been listening, and began walking again. 

He heard a creak behind him, and then Legolas' voice. "It is only Estel passing by. I do not think he could have heard anything important." 

 

Elrond was at the desk in his study, as usual, checking a large open volume and then writing something in another book. Estel entered slowly and Elrond looked up with a smile, but Estel immediately burst out, "Papa, I am so very sorry!" 

Elrond blinked in confusion, and put down his pen. "What are you sorry about, Estel?" 

With some trepidation, Estel held out the flowers in his hand. 

Elrond drew his breath through his teeth with a pained hiss and stilled entirely. He looked at the flowers for a long moment, then came around the desk and knelt by Estel. 

"You picked these from the bank near the waterfall," Elrond said finally, slowly stroking a blossom with one finger. 

It was not exactly a question, but Estel nodded anyway. "I am sorry, Papa, I did not mean to take the whole plant - I slipped on the rocks. And I did not know I should not pick them - they were so pretty, and I wanted flowers for the celebration." 

"Celebrian planted these a long time ago." Elrond blinked hard a few times and swallowed. At last he said, "It is not your fault, I suppose. I did not tell you not to touch them. I did not think you would be able to reach so high." 

Estel looked miserable, and Elrond reached out to smooth his foster son's hair. "Never mind; the damage is done. Let us go and put these in water, so that they will keep until you can wear them." But he gave a heavy sigh as he stood. 

"I am very sorry, Papa," Estel said again, now close to tears himself. 

Elrond shook his head. "As I said - Estel! You did not say you were hurt yourself!" 

Estel looked down at his skinned knee and scraped hands. "I forgot." Although now that he looked at his injuries, they were beginning to sting again. 

Elrond swept the boy up in his arms. "Come, my son. We will see about your hurts, and then we will put your Evening Stars in water until you need them."


	7. Nost-Na-Lothian

"Estel? Wake up, darling." When Gilraen came to Estel that night, he could already hear the chimes of the Elves' laughter, and drums and flutes in the distance. They blended together to make a kind of exhilarating night music. He opened his eyes groggily.

Gilraen looked different than Estel remembered seeing her. She wore her hair up and crowned with a wreath of the cherry blossoms Estel liked to bring to her, and her cheeks were rosy in the lamplight. She wore a pink dress, and her eyes, which looked especially blue, were for once merry. Estel thought that she looked like a young girl, not very much like anyone's mother.

"Come and get dressed, Estel! The night is fine, and the dancing has already started." She helped Estel into clothes of silver and midnight blue, and braided his hair with the Evening Stars he had picked earlier. Then, nearly skipping, she led Estel out of the house and down the path toward the noise. 

When they reached their destination, Estel stopped and stared in wonder. He knew this place, and yet he did not know it. He and Elladan came to the glade to practice tracking, but it was changed as if it had been enchanted in the night. 

High above, the full moon glowed, bathing the trees in silver, and the stars that encrusted the cloudless black sky glittered like white jewels. Below, the softly glowing spheres that were elven lanterns hung here and there from the trees, and in the center of the glade was a small fire. Some thoughtful person had spread blankets near the edge of the glade, and some of the Elves were sitting on them, pouring wine and passing food and joking with each other.

Tavor came by carrying a basket of refreshments, so Estel and Gilraen took some bread and cheese.

The Elves themselves looked foreign to Estel - as alien as if he had not seen them before, although he recognized all of them from Elrond's house. The clothes they wore were spun of soft, shiny materials in bright colors, like the petals of new flowers, and every gesture they made was like a dance in itself. Estel saw Glorfindel a little distance away, dressed in gold and almost shining with something wonderful that Estel could not name: beautiful, yet somehow a stranger. How had the moonlight had changed Estel's friends to these ethereal, noble beings?

There were some Elves dancing around the fire, and they were elegant, full of grace and joy. Many of the dancers wore masks in the shapes of flower petals or leaves. Estel noticed that at the edge of the glade, nearly hidden in the shadows, some of the Elves were playing music. One had a flute, and two had drums, and one Elf wore shells around her ankle that made a rattling sound when she tapped her foot. 

The dancers were moving in a complicated pattern, like a series of knots, in a circle around the fire. Estel saw both Elladan and Elrohir, as well as Legolas and a few others. The bright clothes shimmered with the light of the flames as they turned together, and then all at once leapt several paces forward. When they touched lightly on the ground they knelt, and the music stopped.

There were laughter and shouts of encouragement. The dancers moved outside the circle. More wine was poured, more goblets raised in various toasts, and other Elves moved to take their places in the dancing area.

"Estel, Lady Gilraen!" said a voice beside the two of them. "Well met!"

Estel turned his gaze upwards and met Elrohir's smile. "How do you like your first Nost-na-Lothion, Estel?" 

"It is very strange," Estel said honestly. "But beautiful." Estel had never seen Elrohir in clothes like these. They were embroidered all over, and trimmed with bells in some places. In his dark hair Elrohir was wearing forget-me-nots.

"Of course it is," Elrohir said with a smile. "That is what the night is for! Did you see that Father is playing his flute tonight?"

Estel had not, but indeed it was Elrond at the side of the glade, his hair wreathed not in flowers, but in evergreen. For a second, Estel was alarmed when instead of the beloved father who ruffled his hair and took him herb-gathering, he saw only another bright being who had lived a long, long time. Then Elrond waved and Estel saw his father again. Estel waved back happily.

"Tell me, Estel," Elrohir said, "would you not like to see your mother dance, too?"

"Oh," breathed Gilraen, turning her head shyly. "I am sure I could not. I have been watching the Elves, Elrohir, and I know I could never keep up."

Elrohir laughed. "Lady, do I not know you well enough yet to know you are not an Elf? Come and dance with me now. It is only a chain dance such as you might do anywhere in Gondor. It is not difficult."

Gilraen hesitated.

"It would please me, my lady," Elrohir insisted. "For I see you eyeing the circle, and I know it would give you happiness."

Gilraen seemed to flush, but perhaps it was only the firelight. "It would give me much delight indeed, to dance again as I used to."

Elrohir grinned broadly, but looked down at Estel. "Then may I steal your mother away for a few moments? I promise to bring her back soon."

Estel nodded. "I have never seen you dance, Mama. I would like to."

And so they went out to the fire together, Gilraen in her dress like pink cherry blossom, and Elrohir in the shimmering color of a summer sky. Estel watched them with admiration as they bowed, walked, lifted their hands together, turned, stepped. Estel had never noticed before that his mother was pretty, but he knew now, as her eyes lit with merriment, that it was so. 

At his elbow, someone said to Estel. "I see your papa allowed you to come to the festival after all. I hope you did not make yourself hoarse."

Estel glanced up and saw Legolas, and knew he was only teasing. Nevertheless he explained, "I asked nicely, and Papa said he would let me come for an hour."

Legolas, who was dressed in the color of summer leaves, sipped from a carved goblet. "Well done. Would that we had such diplomats in Mirkwood." He eyed the dancers walking and turning around the fire. "It is a great shame that we do not keep Nost-na-Lothion at home, for this is a beautiful celebration. Many of the songs and dances seem the same, though."

Estel pointed. "That is my mother, in the pink. She has never been to an Elf dance."

"I do not believe I have seen your mother before. She dances well."

Estel nodded happily. 

When Elrohir brought Gilraen back to Estel, he greeted Legolas. "Well met, Legolas! I see you have recovered well enough to be able to jump about with the rest of us."

Legolas inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I am entirely healed, thanks to your father. Truly, Imladris has a wonderful air that has strengthened my heart, as well."

Elrohir turned and took some Lembas from an Elf with a basket and broke it. "It is traditional to share Yavanna's bread with friends at the Birth of Flowers," he said, offering some to Gilraen, Estel and Legolas.

Legolas chuckled. "I must have made more friends in Imladris than I had realized. If I am asked to take one more piece of Lembas from my courteous hosts, I shall burst."

In the shadows, the drums began to beat, this time in a fast rhythm. A broad smile broke across Elrohir's face. "Do you do the Dance of Arda in Mirkwood?" he asked.

"Aye," Legolas confirmed, and with a teasing air added, "And I'll wager we know it so well that you Imladris folk will not be able to keep up with us. In the Greenwood we touch the treetops for that one!"

Elrohir laughed. "Indeed, we have not yet reached the treetops in our dances here. But we will do our poor best." Elrohir turned to Estel and Gilraen. "And now you will see something worth waiting for," Elrohir promised. And he donned a mask. 

Estel saw the mask was made of wood, but it was very thin, and carved and painted to look like the petals of a columbine. It made him look very strange. Estel reached out to touch the mask lightly, a little frightened.

Elrohir, sensing Estel's discomfort, lifted the mask for a moment to wink, and then went back to the dancing circle. In fact, every Elf who was not playing music was moving towards the circle, as well. With a grin, Legolas unhooked a mask made of new leaves from his belt, and tied it in place. Then Legolas, too, made his way towards the center of the glade. 

Estel could not pick out all the Elves because they were masked, but as they took their positions, he knew both his brothers, and fair-haired Legolas, and tall Glorfindel. Estel was fairly certain of Ilothuir and Nestwen, the healers, and even thought he recognized grumpy Medlin taking his place in the circle. 

Gilraen settled on a blanket and pulled Estel onto her lap. Estel, more content than he had been in a long while, leaned back against his mother's shoulder to watch the scene in front of him.

If the first dance he had seen was intricate, this one was even more complex. Each Elf moved in perfect time with all the others, leaping in a great knot around the fire. If any of the Elves had been one step out of place, the dance would have failed. Although no one truly reached to the treetops, as Legolas had said, Estel knew that no mortal could have jumped to the heights the Elves achieved. 

From the edge of the circle, the Elf with the shells on her ankle began to sing in a language Estel did not know. With a start, Estel realized the singer was the courier, Nordheth of Mirkwood. Her song lifted Estel's heart, and made him want to leap for joy along with the Elves. 

Soon the Elves around the fire were moving so quickly that he could not pick out any of them clearly, not even Elrohir and Elladan. At any given time, some of the Elves would be high in the air, and others somersaulting on the ground, while yet others were turning on one foot. 

Unexpectedly, one of the leaping Elves faltered, but recovered. The dancer behind him narrowly missed being kicked in the head, but the dance went on.

A few minutes later, horribly, the same Elf stumbled and fell. Abruptly, everyone behind him stopped, and the three Elves in the air barely avoided crashing into those who were standing. They all waited, since there was no choice if each person was not in their proper place.

Yet the fallen dancer did not rise. The drums and the flutes stopped too, as the fallen one gripped his throat and pulled off his mask. With horror Estel realized the fallen dancer was his friend Legolas, and the Elf was breathing with great difficulty. 

For a moment no one moved, then from the side of the glade Elrond dropped his flute, moving forward to Legolas. Other dancers, too, were removing their masks and hurrying forward to help. Elrond reached Legolas first and knelt by him. 

"What is the matter?" the healer asked, looking for some sign of injury. 

"Breathe…" was all Legolas could manage.

Gilraen tried to prevent Estel from running forward but she was not quick enough. As he reached the Elves, he saw that Legolas' lips were beginning to tinge with blue, and although he was not panting, his eyes were bulging with the effort of drawing in each breath. Legolas slipped from his kneeling posture as if he could no longer hold himself up.

Elrond gently moved Legolas' hand from his throat and placed his own there, closing his eyes. Elrond's eyes flew open again and he at once helped Legolas to lie down on the grassy floor. Then Elrond took his hand from Legolas throat and placed it lower, under Legolas' ribcage; with the other hand he covered Legolas heart. Legolas' eyes were still open and although he could not speak he was looking panicked. 

"You must relax, young one," Elrond said softly, meeting Legolas' frightened gaze. “I know it is difficult, but you must calm yourself. I will keep your heart beating steadily, and I will breathe for you, but you must allow me to help … Glorfindel?" Elrond looked around for a moment, then turned his attention back to Legolas. "Let go…I will do all the work. There…. Good. You see? You do well…." 

Estel was glad Legolas did not know Elrond very well yet. If he had, he would surely have seen that under his calm exterior, the healer was exceedingly worried. 

Glorfindel stepped forward and dropped to one knee by Elrond. "My Lord?"

Elrond tried to say it as quietly as possible, but there was no way to keep everyone from hearing, including Legolas. "He has been poisoned."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Lamiel and Daw the Minstrel for beta reading!


End file.
